


The song dies with a scream...

by SpaceFlapper



Series: Sacred and Profane [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Humor, Lyrium Withdrawal, Sexual Content, a bit of everything for everyone, dealing with trauma and PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceFlapper/pseuds/SpaceFlapper
Summary: A different take on how Inquisitor Trevelyan is confronted with Cullen's lyrium withdrawal. The battle of Adamant brought them together in ways they did not expected; and the days after the victory in the Western Approach forced them to face the chasm between their believes.A journey through the dunes of the Hissing Wastes reveals more information about the Inquisitor's past while Cullen's time to come clean is running out.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Sacred and Profane [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/199955
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Adamant

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of moments, words, gestures, glances and touch.   
> This particular story will be split in 3-4 chapters during which Jesebel Trevelyan learns about Cullen's lyrium withdrawal and the trauma he carries. The game of course had its limitations when it comes to scenes like these, which is completely understandable, so I wanted to redo that part of the story, fitting it better to their circumstances, and explore more their feelings and the consequences. Hope you enjoy!

Time and space crashed back into existence and warped around every inch of her bones, her burning muscles, and the surface of her skin - everything that the blood in her veins was keeping together.

It hurt. It hurt so much until all she could feel was the pain of her earthly body and she thought she could cry with joy. Her blood was still on fire but it was all back contained in the length of her limb. The rift had closed and all that was left was pain and dust. And she welcomed it all.

The fog was lifting from her eyes and there was a world of ash, fire and sand around her. On her knees, everything was rearranging itself: the walls of the defeated warden fortress; the shapes of soldiers flickering in the night; the voices carried by the wind. Regaining control over her body the woman pushed against the ground and looked for something that could anchor her back into reality. And there was him; standing tall… a man bloodied and bruised by the battle; his helmet was gone, no hiding place for those sad eyes, now looking for answers into hers. _The lion mane did him justice_.

A drunk smile ached on her face and the man dropped exhausted in front of her, his sword heaved into the sand between them.

“We won.”

“We won…”

* * *

He denied the limp in his left leg focusing on keeping pace with the Seeker. The camp was anything but quiet, but the Commander could not find it in his heart to rob these men and women of their victory. They deserved to celebrate, they deserved to feel proud of the battle they’d won.

So Cullen continued by Cassandra’s side as they made their way to the Inquisitor’s tent. It had been hours since the last clash of swords had traveled through the cold air of the Western Approach.

Cassandra lifted the tent flap and both slipped into the wide space, lit by candles and the grand fire in the middle, heating the shelter while smoke was rising up and disappearing through the opened dome above. His thoughts were momentarily caught between the flames and cracking sound of the fire and the only good it did was to remind every fiber of his body of how truly tired he was.

“Inquisitor,” the woman by his side saluted and it was enough to break the spell. He chose not to speak but instead he searched the room for the figure of their leader. He found her seated by the campaign desk, quill by her side as her hand was fervently tracing letters on a piece of parchment. Her lack of response meant they had to wait.

It gave him time to take her in, observe the newly acquired bruises on her face and the hidden heaviness in her posture. She had cleaned up, now in a dark robe and a long fur protecting her body from the desert’s temperatures. Her long dark hair was wet and still tangled and he wondered what message had such urgency that she was putting it ahead of her own comfort. It crossed his mind it was one of the few occasions when he was seeing her without some gloves hiding the mark. _The mark they all wanted to believe divine but that had proved that night to be a peculiar and dangerous sort of magic._ She had won that argument, Cullen found the discovery rather amusing, if possible, in spite of the insecurity it was creating.

The magic in her hand seemed inactive, or at least not strong enough to shine through her earthy skin. Soon the quill was dropped in the ink well and the woman secured the letter with the Inquisition seal. A brown ribbon followed and he distinguished the Ferelden heraldry embroidered on the thin cloth. A second wax fixed the ribbon with the pressure of a ring, one that left a seal he could not identify. Firmly, she stood up and the agent that had been waiting still by the entrance until that moment approached and took the letter.

“You’ll depart this night. Your horse and supplies should be ready. No detours, no unplanned stops. I want it delivered as fast as possible.”

The slim figure, a scout judging by their armor, nodded curtly. “I could send this from the outpost west if you wish. Sister Nightingale’s ravens could travel faste-”

Her features hardened and she took a step closer to the man, making Cullen wonder if she was even aware how intimidating she suddenly had become.

“Unless it’s to the man wearing that ring” she took the time to point at the seal “that letter stays on you! If Leliana or anyone else forces it out of your hands you might as well eat it. Are we clear?”

In spite of her calm and relaxed demeanor the message was fully understood. The Commander knew that the man was ready to die on the task; he probably wasn’t going to. That was Trevelyan’s way of making sure Leliana was staying out of her personal matters. 

“As always Inquisitor.” He bowed.

On his way out he acknowledged their presence with a nod and he was gone. With just the three of them left , the woman turned her attention.

“How are we doing?”

“As you can probably hear, everyone is celebrating and I doubt things will go quiet anytime soon.”

“We’ve lost good people tonight, but we knew what this battle meant.” he continued what the Seeker didn’t voice. “It’s a shame the Wardens had to pay such a high price.”

The Inquisitor didn’t seem to agree, judging by her scorn. “They did this to themselves. They had the chance to stand down at the Ritual Tower. I wasn’t going to beg them to listen while they were pouring demons down on my men.”

Cullen and Cassandra shared a glance in furtive agreement. Her decision had been fully justified even if they would wish things could have gone differently.

The woman in front of them approached the desk again, looking down at the opened map of the Approach and the discarded papers.

“We’ve managed to account for everything after the battle. Livius is under constant watch and he’ll be ready for your judgment once we get back to Skyhold. Our forces are regrouping and resting for the night. ”

“Lady Seryl will be most pleased to spread the word in Orlais of her great contribution to this victory.”

Cullen fought the urge to roll his eyes at the Seeker’s comment. Politics were the bane of his existence but he could not stress enough the amazing work that Josephine was doing for the Inquisition. He felt truly lucky she was on their side.

“You’ve made good work.”

They both tensed at the Inquisitor’s steady voice. It was no compliment. Coming from her, it felt like a fact and nothing else and that alone made them more confident in the parts they were playing.

“Likewise Inquisitor. It’s good to see you back.” With those words Cassandra felt more at ease. He read the palpable relief in her voice and he could not blame her. The two had not gotten a chance to talk about the events of that night… he almost felt out of place through the display of familiarity the women shared.

“It’s good to be back, Cassandra.” The answer came soft, almost distant. 

“The Fade... must have been terrifying. Did you truly find Justinia’s- ”

Her word were interrupted as another agent stepped inside.

“My Lady Inquisitor! Sister Nightingale sends urgent word from Skyhold.”

The woman turned and after staring down at the messenger she let out a long sigh.

“I imagine nothing that can wait.”

“She… said… urgent…” the agent was visibly confused, the noble’s quip completely escaping her.

“Of course she said that. What is it about?” Her hand went for the correspondence.

“She’s sending a letter from Duke de Montfort. It seems he has finally agreed on a meeting but we’re awaiting your answer.”

“His timing couldn’t be worse if he tried.” She opened the letter and approached the table.

Both Cullen and Cassandra waited in silence. He winced; with nothing to keep him focused the pain in his body was getting louder.

“Hmm… I stand corrected. Maybe the tide is truly moving in our favor.” She paused and flinched. Everybody was longing for a rest. “The Duke finally accepted Josie’s proposal. He’s willing to discuss the patronage of the Inquisition over the Orlesian trading routes but he’s proposing a meeting on neutral ground. There are enough people with power in Orlais who would oppose.”

“That would affect the traffic of red lyrium across Orlais immensely!” Cassandra was the first one to react to the good news.

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” Knowing that the man had never been a sympathizer of the Inquisition, Cullen had to address the possibility.

The woman kept her eyes on the letter until a confident smile made its way to her lips.

“Not a trap. He wishes to meet at Serpent’s Watch. It’s the safest place in Thedas… if you can afford it.” As she said that she went by the table again and slightly bent over the opened map. “Conveniently for us it’s a secluded place in the Hissing Wastes. While it is located within Orlais' borders, it’s a completely autonomous and answers to no country. Which makes it technically…” her finger traveled across the unwelcoming deserts “an independent territory.”

Cassandra followed her hand. “There’s nothing there…”

“It won’t show on many maps. This way only people with intent will know where to look. I’ve been there before. From here it will take a bit over a day of riding.” The tall woman paused, weighing the situation. “We should take this chance and see what the Duke has to offer. I believe the battle here might just make things easier.” She looked up with an answer for the messenger. “Send word that we accept the terms of the meeting. And keep discretion.”

Leliana’s agent bowed without any word before retreating.

“I would like both of you to accompany me. Montfort has always responded better to authority and titles. If nothing else he’d get drunk on how good he’ll feel about himself to have the Inquisition’s attention.”

“Of course.”

It was at that time that he caught her looking deep into his soul and he realized his mistake.

“Are you ok Commander?”

_Yes_ he wanted to quickly say but he knew that the nod he gave was not enough to hide his expression. He had been quiet for too long, too caught into silencing the pain in his body.

“Tired...” he let out eventually.

“Cullen, you’ve been on your feet since before the battle.” The Seeker had spoken from his side. “I have not seen you rest once.”

“The men needed my presence. The more helping hands we have with the retreat and the wounded the better.”

“What the men need is not a dead Commander.”

It was then when the Trevelyan approached him. Every time she’d do that, no matter how often, he’d find himself tense. He was aware of the height they shared but whenever she’d get this close, he’d end up feeling too small under her gaze.

Without effort she pushed the side of his coat with her long fingers, revealing the torn tunic and the cracked armor above his left hip.

“You are wounded.” Her voice was quiet and firm.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. The weapon didn’t hit anything important. I’ve been through worse.”

Her eyes inspected the reddened tunic, deeper than its usual colors. After a few moments her hand retreated and let the coat fall back in its place.

“There is an infirmary to that side of my tent and some hot water left to clean the wounds. Please make use of it.”

For reasons he could not understand, past his pain, he felt his ears burn. It was a familiar yet strange, long forgotten feeling.

“There is no need Inquisitor. I will – ”

“It wasn’t a suggestion _Commander_. Whatever your argument was I am not going to have the leader of my troops bleed out in my tent.”

His jaw clenched but he could not protest.

“I believe it’s for the best, Cullen. You need to have your wounds tended to. Maker knows this battle has done enough damage. I can take care of our people for the rest of the night.”

With no room for debate, the man finally nodded. He turned and the pain shot through his entire leg. At the back of the tent there was a white veil that sheltered the area from view. It made him uncomfortable… it was the Inquisitor’s tent… what would people say? He made his way across and lifted the thin cloth. A round wooden tub, with a couple of water pots occupied most of the space while a couple of opened boxes with vials and clean cloths rested on a stool. He looked away when he spotted on the floor the torn, discarded leathers of the Inquisitor. There was blood mixed in the sand and a bucket held the cloths the Trevelyan had probably used to clean her own wounds.

It was only when he pulled the drape back and found himself alone that he realized how tense he had been and how much he needed the privacy. His armor instantly felt twice as heavy. He went for the strap of his pauldron. This was going to hurt.

In the back he could hear the two women still talking, and he tried to focus on his armor rather than his situation.

“We should leave early morning if possible. The meeting is going to take place in three days' time but it would be in our advantage to arrive earlier.”

“I will see that we are ready for the road.”

“Cassandra, is there anything that I can help with?”

“No. Everything is under control.” Laughter and singing thundered from the camp louder than usual. “I wish we’d be more cautions.”

“Let them have it. They fought well. Just make sure that we have people always on lookout to avoid surprises.”

“Of course.”

He heard their steps on the sand, going further away. Steadily his armor came off and the pain only grew stronger without the plate to hold everything together; fresh air found its way to his injuries and he clenched his jaw to suppress any sound that might threaten to leave his throat.

“And Cassandra, please try to rest as well.”

“I shall. I may be resilient but I’m not stubborn.” He heard the heartfelt joke.

“That’s news to me.” The woman retorted and Cullen almost grinned.

They said their goodbyes and he faintly heard the Herald’s voice coming from outside the tent, in a short conversation with someone else.

When only one set of steps reached him, he knew they were alone; which in return didn’t make him feel any better. He looked at the bloodied shirt in his hands. What was he doing stripping down not meters away from the Inquisitor?

“I’ve asked for a set of spare clothes from our soldiers and new ointments from the healers. They should be arriving soon.”

He brought his hand to the open cut on his left side. A warden’s sword has pierced through the armor and only now did he realize how lucky he truly had been. A bit to the right and he was sure it would have hit right through his guts. For a moment he just stood, looking down at the blood on his fingers.

“I shouldn’t be here. I can be taken care of as any of our soldiers.”

“The healers already have enough on their hands. I am sure they won’t protest to having to deal with one patient less tonight. This place isn’t used by anyone, might as well.”

He paused and dropped the shirt.

“It’s not right.”

“You get used to it.”

“The privilege?” He realized too late how judgmental his words must have sounded.

“The expectations.”

There was a shared silence between them, soon followed by the sound of liquid poured in a cup. He took a step inside the tub and filled a tankard with hot water from the barrel.

_They came from very different worlds._

He continued washing his upper body and could not deny how good the clean, warm water felt against his skin. From time to time he’d hear papers turn from the larger area of the tent, telling him that she was probably still towering over the table, reading the reports from the battle. Momentarily a new, short shadow stopped by the curtain, announcing its presence.

“Commander Rutherford.” And with that, on top of the wire holding the curtain a new shirt and breaches were sent hanging.

The woman behind it stepped away before he could say a word. There it was again - the wave of embarrassment washed over him and he was sure his face had turned red. The idea that people could be talking about the Commander of the Inquisition found in the private tent of _the Herald_. Cullen tried to shake the thought away. He recognized Neren, the head healer they had in the aid forces at Adamant. She was an old, competent woman, who cared of nothing but doing her job. She would think nothing of it. 

He discarded the dirty cloth and dipped the tankard again for more water; this time he let it pour over his face and used his free hand to wipe it away.

It was silent in the tent and he almost appreciated the harmony of shy noises around him. But it was proving to be temporary as the flaps of the entrance got forcefully thrown aside and the all too familiar voice of the flamboyant mage reached him.

“Have my ears heard right? You were invited to _the_ Eye of the Serpent?”

“Secrecy didn’t last long…”

“I may or may not have insisted a bit too much with our dear Seeker when she started speaking about preparing the horses for the sand in the morning.” he almost apologized. He and Trevelyan had a lot in common; inability to phrase a sincere apology was one of them. “So... is it true?”

“All correct Dorian.” Someone was pouring another drink in the room.

“Ah! Unbelievable! The desert's jewel …”

He thought he heard the woman chuckle.

“You must take me with you! You will take me with?”

It took some time for the Trevelyan to answer, but he imagined it was just because she had stepped closer to the mage.

“I would have it no other way.”

“Fantastic!” he exhaled in his usual buoyant way but Cullen could feel the excitement. For the first time he found himself curious to know more about the place they were going to travel to.

“Wait a moment. Is Cassandra joining?” There was something dangerous in the sudden amusement seeping through the altus’ words.

“I’ve asked for her presence, yes.” But it was the unusual innocence in the woman’s voice that sent a chill down his spine. The two of them were reveling in something that apparently no one else knew.

“Oh, you. are. a cruel one.” Dorian’s laughter came as an answer to his fears. He stepped around the tub, the water gathered at his feet rippling against the wooden frame. Cullen mentally cursed. The last thing he needed was attention on him. He had been perfectly fine with the mage being so caught in his dramatic ways that he didn't pay attention to anything else.

“Are we not alone?”

That was it. He was not going to be able to look his soldiers in the eye for weeks to come.

“The Commander is using the bay to clean his injuries.”

He wished he could just combust. Or be struck by a fireball. He would take ten of those instead of this one moment. The worst was the silence before the mage spoke again.

“Are you telling me that our strapping and honorable lion is currently completely butt-naked in your inquisitorial tent? Ha! Scandalous!” Dorian did not care to hide his enjoyment.

“He can hear you, you know.”

“Of course he can and I only had words of appreciation for him, did I not?”

He let out an exasperated groan. 

“Imagine the gossip...” it was a weak attempt at whispering on the man’s part.

“There is nothing to gossip about, Pavus.”

A gentle snort escaped the mage’s lips.

“That, my dead Commander, regardless of my best of intentions of course, is out of your control I fear, and more at the discretion of the wine I am having tonight.”

“Dorian.” The woman interfered and it only made him more flustered. He was well apt at facing her friend’s smart jabs. “What about you? Do you need anything?”

“Oh, I am good! Aside from the traumatic Fade journey of course – let’s not do that again – I seem to be in pristine condition. ”

“Do you have a tent for the night? You know this place is big enough.”

“Oh, under normal conditions I would take the warmth of your tent and bedding anytime _but –”_ oh how he loved the theatrics, not that Cullen could blame him when they worked so naturally on the man “tonight I am following my heart!”

“Your heart…” the woman’s dry tone told Cullen everything there was to know. He took the chance to dry up as much as possible through their chaff.

“Possibly a bit further down.”

A clean laughter escaped the Trevelyan noble.

“In any case, if you ever change your mind…”

“Of course! That being said, I should be on my way. Unless there is any chance our Commander might step out of there in all his glory to –“

At that point he forcefully pulled the hanging trousers off to his side; which, he instantly regretted as pain darted through his middle.

“Unfortunate.”

He heard the rustling of clothes and he imagined the two were hugging before parting for the night. They shared a couple of words but this time he could not make their meaning, only distinguish the care and warmth in their voices.

“Have a pleasant night, Commander. And please do make sure people see you leaving the tent of our Inquisitor. We wouldn’t want them to think the unthinkable of you.”

“Good night, Dorian.” He didn’t bother sounding less annoyed than he was currently feeling. With a bit more effort the tunic went down his arms. The spare clothes were simple, neither big nor small, though the loose breaches were a couple of fingers shorter.

He took a deep breath and thought about how ridiculous it would be for him to stay behind the curtain longer than necessary. It was temping but he was not going to let the mage get in his head. So he pulled the cotton drape and stepped out.

He found the woman seated back in the heavy chair, preoccupied with the papers in front of her.

“That was unnecessarily embarrassing.” Cullen admitted as he approached her.

“Dorian thrives on making people uncomfortable. I think he perceives you as a special treat.”

“Birds of a feather flock together.”

It was by the sharp way her head snapped up and the unusual big eyes with which she looked at him that he knew he had won that round. Just because he was an easy target did not mean he wasn’t armed.

And it was worth for the coy grin she rewarded his wits with.

But then his eyes fell on the papers on the desk. The official expulsion of the Wardens from Orlais. It was enough to remind him of the ugly events of the night that passed.

“Are you sure that banishing the Wardens from Orlais was for the best?” Even when tired, Cullen never hesitated to challenge her decisions if there was a strong belief behind it. Often times that’s how they ended up dancing around each other’s nerves but he had learnt by now that in spite of her curt answers or seeming disdain, she was counting on him to voice his concerns; to counter her when so few dared either out of fear or adoration.

“They’ve done enough damage already!” The voice was void of the previous humor.

He was not convinced “Is this personal? Is this about what they did to you?”

It came as no surprise when her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Personal? So you think it’s some sort of act of vengeance because I got dragged in this mess by their _failed_ plan? _It is_ personal Cullen. As it should be for you too and for every fool that hoped for a better world at the end of the summit.” The woman stopped, realizing the sharp edge of her words. “They are responsible for Divine Justinia’s death and for the chaos that ensued. Do you feel differently?”

“No, but the consequences…”

“Something is happening with the Wardens. The order was born out of desperation through means they never fully comprehended. They have their hands tainted with every life that is lost to Coryphes _because_ of that. The best thing they can do is go to Weisshaupt under Hawke’s watch to figure out whatever is happening there.”

He did not push further, in part because of the undeniable truth of her argument, but also because there was an emotion he never read on her before. Worry and urgency… something she would not share was troubling her mind. Were there people she cared about within the Order?

“You are still bleeding.”

It took him some time to catch up with the sudden shift in the conversation and he followed her eyes. The shirt he was wearing was stained red above his wound. Her hands found their way to the tunic and lifted it up just enough to grant her view.

“It doesn’t seem to go terribly deep but it’s not to neglect either. I can help with that.”

“No, please; it’s not necessary. I can take care of it.”

She arched her thick eyebrow and looked up at him in a mix of skepticism and amusement.

“Do you know how?”

Unfortunately he ended up just pushing his lips together. Everything that was more than bruises and gashes he’d had a healer’s help. This was a damned sword shoved through his plate with the purpose of cutting him open. It was the second time that night he realized how lucky he had been.

“It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but if you don’t trust my skills please go ahead and burden our exhausted healers.”

She was impossible. He could not do that anymore without guilt. His silence told the woman that she had won.

Before he could say anything she stood up, close enough he could smell the scent of her body. He was the one that had to step away.

“There is a cot behind you where you can sit.”

She proceeded to the box he had not noticed before, placed at the edge of the desk. It contained a couple of medicinal mixtures and tools so it was safe to assume that the healer must have dropped it earlier.

Reluctantly he did as instructed only to realize how painful it actually was to sit.

Cullen watched her mix the contents from two of the vials; she stopped and reached for the jug to pour some of the content in a cup. It looked like wine. Before picking it up the woman procured a different flask she had nearby her own used cup, and allowed a couple of drops.

“This will help with the pain” she said as she made her way to him. “A few sips should do the trick.”

He brought it to his nose – clearly wine. But whatever she spiced it with was probably not for flavor nor for actual medicinal purposes. 

“What is it?”

“Herbs.”

He would not have an answer to satisfy his curiosity, that much he knew. She was back by the table continuing to stir into the small bowl and a familiar smell started to spread in the air.

“You know the healer’s potions?”

“Some. It was mostly out of necessity. I’ve lost count of the times I had to stitch myself up. Contrary to what you believe I didn’t always have healers and mages at my disposal each time I’d fuck myself over; and that last part hasn’t changed much in the past months.”

Cullen kept watching her as he downed the wine in one go. It went smoothly down his throat and he welcomed the taste.

“You won’t be needing any threads but the ointment is meant to cauterize the flesh and close the wound faster than it would by itself. It will burn.”

His eyes were fixed on the smoke leaving the tent, disappearing into the sky above them.

“Can’t beat fireballs…” he said absentmindedly and for a moment the woman stopped her motion.

A sensation of calmness took over him and the man watched her approach, carrying two different jars, a small piece of cloth and a familiar metallic lancet traditional healers would use to tend to wounds.

“Lift your shirt.”

His left arm went for the tunic and he fought the faint sensation of embarrassment that was threatening to grip him again.

“You drank the entire thing?”

It took him a while to catch up with the meaning of her word; she was talking about the forgotten cup in his hand.

“Is that a bad thing?”

When he looked up at the noble he was greeted by an amused expression.

“I am sure you’ll be fine, Commander.” The tone of her voice told him that he should worry but… he just couldn’t find it in him. It was as if something was keeping him grounded.

The one thing that almost made him startle was the Herald suddenly kneeling in front of him, by the side of the bed.

“Hold it up.” She didn’t wait for him to give much of a reaction as she dipped the cloth in one of the jars and gently pressed it against his would.

_Maker, it burnt._

But to his credit he didn’t flinch. Much. And he was grateful to the woman for not making any comments on it.

“This is embarrassing.”

And then she laughed. She laughed so clearly and serenely, he was brought back to the windy Haven morning when he’d first heard that laughter; it had been something he'd said about his early training as a Templar; he remembered the youthful feel in his chest; the snow caught in her hickory hair.

“So you keep saying.”

He kept his eyes up ahead either out of respect or trying to save face, he couldn’t say. The Inquisitor was on her knees in front of him, in her dark robe and he was … Maker, what if someone was going to step inside the tent?

He could feel the burn of the salve she was leveling with the lancet but it seemed so distant. He never though a pain so sharp could ever feel like an echo. Cullen leaned back on his right arm… the pain must have made him do it and he knew his body was reacting to it but his mind couldn’t place it. What was this weird feeling taking over him?

His attempts to get a grip on himself were interrupted by the gentle cold air on his stomach and he made the mistake of looking down; of watching her face so close to his skin, her plump lips blowing over his wound. She was so close… This terrifying woman; stubborn and difficult; the Maker knew the times he had tried to fight her out of his thoughts; but he had eyes, did he not? There was not a single delicate feature she possessed, no one would describe her as pretty or even beautiful… yet if power and confidence ever looked arousing on a person, she was the embodiment of that. No, he always knew better than to welcome those thoughts but it was oftentimes when she was absent from Skyhold that she’d end up prowling around his temperance.

His thoughts were so loud and speaking back to him he started to wonder if he was voicing them. He couldn’t tell. The woman wasn’t reacting so he took that as a good sign. He felt his blood running down to his legs and it was getting hotter. The lack of control over his own body was terrifying, he couldn’t stop it nor take it back. He felt the urge grow and found himself shocked at his own actions. As if he was watching from outside his body he saw his hand going up, slipping around the nape of her neck. He found himself lost in the sight of his fingers tangling through her wet hair. The woman looked up, so close to his crotch… and then the world, gently, went dark.

* * *

His body startled and pushed him back awake. His mind was foggy and unusually relaxed as he tried to understand where he was. He had fallen asleep but the precarious sense of security shattered with every moment he became more aware of the surroundings. It was not his tent. He could not remember where he was or even when. Adamant; the fight; things came crushing down and still made little sense. There were furs on top of him and he was almost out of breath when he started to recognize the layout of the tent.

He felt dizzy and had a hard time collecting his thoughts. It was not his bed…

And Cullen froze.

Through the cloudy thoughts the last moments of the night came into focus and they absolutely mortified him. The Inquisitor kneeling, his hand…. _Oh Maker…._ He wanted to die.

He was in her cot, layers of blankets covering him. He jolted up and the room started to spin at the same time pain darted through his stomach. It was both good and bad since it managed to cast away the last veil of his sleep. He desperately searched the room, still lit by the candles, kept warm by the fire in the middle, and that’s where he found her. Laying in furs, facing the fire, the Inquisitor was asleep.

What had happened? Why was he in her bed while the woman was sleeping on the ground? Shame swallowed him alive, and yet he could not look away from her. What had he done? Had he done anything? Most of it was a blur.

If anything, he was glad he didn’t have the power to jump out of bed and risk waking her up. He brought a hand up to knead the bridge of his nose. His mind was still not his own. What… happened? Cullen tried to collect himself as he kept his eyes on the Trevelyan. But something caught his attention. Her robe, loosened up left the upper part of her back uncovered and what he caught a glimpse of made his blood freeze. Just below the woman’s neck, there were strange engravings on her back, like tattooed circles disappearing lower under the clothing. There were symbols he’d never seen before but what stood out were the savage claw-like scars across them.

Under the spell of a morbid curiosity, he pushed the covers away and slowly stepped out of the bed, taking just a couple of steps closer. The circles and symbols were thin but were no regular tattoos – they looked like carvings. He held his breath and knelt closer when everything in him was screaming for him to back away.

The scars, they were getting thicker and deeper but he couldn’t say how far they went behind the robe. They looked as if somethings… someone had tried to savagely tear through the woman’s back.

He reached out. In a split moment a force crushed his wrist and he felt the pressure of the blade at his neck way before he realized we was staring right into the woman’s angry eyes.

“Do you fucking want to die?” she hissed in a dangerously low voice. Even if she recognized him the grip on his arm did not falter and the blade did not move. He swallowed and felt the trail of blood down his neck.

“I didn’t mean to – ”

“No… you. _didn’t_.”

Time passed and neither of them moved, petrified on the ground. He waited for the fire in her eyes to simmer down. He could not exactly _hear_ it and he couldn’t feel it but the heart in her chest was racing. He wanted it to stop. He couldn’t say how, but it was hurting him.

Cullen gave her time. Did not even flinch in her grasp.

“I am sorry. I am…” Then he understood. She… had been scared… of him. He did not wish to think the woman capable of fear. He refused. He needed to run away from that through. _She was fearless. Even when frightened, she was more terrifying than her fear_.

”..sorry.”

“I could have _killed you!”_ her voice was shaking in anger.

"It was foolish of me.”

“It was stupid!” she hissed. “Don't you _ever_ try to sneak on me like that if you want to keep your head attached to your neck.”

There was anger in her voice and it poured out like venom. But it was not a threat. Any other person would have not understood it but her feelings mirrored into him so clearly… it was something he knew well. The anger was an involuntary echo of a maddening lack of control; the possibility of her pain being so strong it would take over her and lash out into something horrific. When she was such a competent and fearless leader … it was easy to forget she was also a damaged person. Cullen didn’t know her story; maybe part of him was scared of finding out; regardless there was never a time for that - to pause and think of them as simple people, each with their pasts to carry. But he’d peeked through her cracks at times. It is a scarily instinctive thing to do, to see someone’s ugly pain when it reflects right into yours.

He waited.

And she let go; slowly; carefully. First the pressure against his neck vanished and then her hand released him. She shoved the blade of the knife in the sand and looked into the fire. Relaxed, he fell back to sit next to her. The gap on her loose robe left her chest exposed and the color of her dark nipples welcomed his gaze. He should have felt ashamed, he knew; he should have looked away from her warm bosom and apologize. But nothing of the moment made it uncomfortable… just intimate.

The scars on her back were plaguing his mind but Cullen decided against asking. Instead he turned completely towards the fire and he vaguely remembered the cut in his side. Lifting his shirt he stared at gash, now a nasty patch of red, irritated skin. All things considered it looked clean; it was going to leave a scar but he had known that from the moment the sword had found its mark.

“What… happened? Did I- …” how was he going to ask something like that? The image of the woman, down on her knees came back rushing and now he was starting to become really aware of her opened robe.

“You passed out.” She breathed out. “I gave you some of the mixture I use against pain - told you to take a few sips.”

He was ok with that. More than ok, he actually felt relieved to hear that he had passed out before he could have done anything stupid.

“Andraste’s ashes! I poured that one down my throat.” He shook his head and stole a glance her way.

It made her smile. “At least you didn’t feel a thing.”

The woman pulled the robe tighter around her and gathered the furs she had slept on closer to her body. 

“You should go back to bed. It will take some time for it to completely clear out of your system, so you might as well take advantage and get some good sleep out of it.”

It had indeed knocked him out. But that was not the problem.

“No. Inquisitor, please. I should not have taken your bed to start with. I can go to my tent.”

“You could but I would not advise trying to stand up. Trust me, the walk would be difficult if not embarrassing.”

He didn’t like it but he liked the idea of people seeing him stumble out of the Inquisitor’s tent in the early hours before morning even less.

“At least allow me to take the place by the fire. I wouldn’t be able to –”

“Very well.” It had been easier to convince her than expected but she spared him the struggle in his own words. What in the Maker’s name had been in that drink?

Effortlessly she rose, letting the pelts slip off her shoulders and pool at her feet.

He watched her long tanned legs step past him and he was shocked at how aroused just that sight made him. Holding in a curse he looked into the fire until he safely heard the woman get in the bed behind him.

“Goodnight Commander.”

Cullen let his body fall on the mass of furs and pelts and dared not turn.

“Rest well, Inquisitor.”

He had truly believed he wasn’t going to be able to close an eye for the rest of the night. Yet sleep found him easier than it had in months. 


	2. Serpent's Watch

The desert’s dunes were far from welcoming, but with the exception of the wind and sand their journey had been, so far, uneventful.

True to the Inquisitor’s words they had left the camp at the first hours of the morning and their party of six kept heading north following the compass and the woman leading them. They had long journeyed into the Hissing Wastes and Cullen learnt that that there was truth to their name – the wind carried a sharp and low tune across the barren sea of sand. It felt as if they were moving across a grave, a land long dead and it made him feel uneasy. He came to the realization that this was the furthest he’d ever traveled across Thedas. For the longest time the village where he was born had been his universe; then the Templars came in and he followed through the tight doors of the Chantry and then the Tower, only to be sent across the sea, to the City of Chains. He’d measured himself in the confinement of man-made fabrications and the irony of their horizon-narrowing purpose did not escape him now. The Inquisition needed him aware of the vast land outside those walls and he found himself wide-eyed at everything that was in between; and for that, he was grateful.

The ruins in the distance kept him on edge - the remains of the surface Thaig Cassandra told him, riding by his side. Their path kept them far yet the towering statues remained an overwhelming sight.

The day was coming to an end as the warmth of the air was dropping severely and it took Cullen more than it should have to realize that they had not been seeing any landmarks or indicators of where they were in a long while. Just sand, rocks and wind.

“Umm... boss… I don’t like this. Looks like a sand storm up ahead.” From behind, Bull spoke loud enough for the woman to hear. Her dracolisk slowed atop the dune until it stopped, allowing all of them to catch up. Cullen secured the scarf around his head out of instinct.

“What’s the plan?”

The woman didn’t flinch.

“We go right through it.”

“We go right through it?” It was Varric to voice his concern from an already unfavorable position on his tall strider.

“That’s what the rope is for. Lock it to the rein of your horses and make a chain. It will keep us together.”

The party wasted no time. Bull handed her the thick rope he had been packing and while the dracolisk didn’t seem to like the new restraints, the noble proved capable of calming the beast. One by one they formed a line, readying for the approaching storm.

With a pull at her cowl the woman masked her face and with a curt tug she started to lead.

“Just when I thought sand couldn’t possibly get into any worse places.” Dorian’s sarcastic voice reached right from behind him.

“Are we sure about this one Inquisitor?’ He shouted ahead. The wind was intensifying and soon communication was going to be a problem.

Instead of an answer her hand rose up to signal them.

It felt too soon and too fast when the sand and wind hit him right in the chest. The convoy advanced slowly but surely, making their way through the tornado. The mounts were having a hard time and they found themselves stirring harder to battle the horses’ fears. Yet the beast ahead on them was made for this, pulling at the rope and forcing the rest of the animals to follow. He used to scorn at the sight of it, but Cullen suddenly found himself thankful for the Inquisitor’s tamed dracolisk.

A sudden gust of wind slapped him across the face unfastening his scarf, taking it into the storm. His helmet had been damaged in the battle so he had left it behind which proved to be a mistake since apparently he wasn’t skilled enough to properly secure a cowl. His slight panic and annoyance got fast replaced by confusion as the smarting against his skin stopped almost instantly. He felt the tingle of magic around him before he had the time to open his eyes and look up at the veil of the barrier.

“Thank you Dorian.” He shouted hoping it would reach the mage.

“Let’s hope it lasts through the worst of it!” The familiar voice replied moments after.

For the longest time it was impossible to see anything. The first good sign was the wind dying down slightly, at last getting replaced by the buzz of silence. No one spoke until they had put a safe distance between them and the storm.

“Huh. That’s… interesting.”

He looked back at the mage and past him, realizing what the man meant by it.

“Sand storms don’t just disappear…” someone in their party answered.

“This one just did.” Dorian approached carefully taking care of the rope that they had used. His voice insinuated something Cullen was not really eager to acknowledge.

If the Inquisitor had heard their conversation she did not seem troubled by it. She took the time to settle in a new formation and continued with purpose. Ahead of them awaited more sand and rocks and yet she stopped, glanced around and only slightly changed direction as if able to differentiate a dune from another.

Cullen tugged the reins of his own horse advancing through the people in his company and catching up to the Inquisitor. He allowed the animals to fall into a rhythm before speaking up.

“This place we are going… I know I’ve raised my concerns before but… how can you be sure it’s safe… how can you even tell where we are going?”

For a long time it seemed like the woman wasn’t going to answer.

“I grew up here… of sorts.”

“You… But... Forgive me for prying, but as a noble from Ostwick, this Maker forgotten corner of Orlais seems rather far from home.”

“Assuming Ostwick was ever my home.” When she spoke it wasn’t with resentment and Cullen recognized a trace of humour in her voice. In the shadows of recent events he welcomed it.

He could not read her expression hidden under the scarf of her desert cowl but he could not miss her eyes glancing slyly at him before her attention went back to the road.

“I am sure Leliana has already put the best resources into digging through my past. Unfortunately for her my father decided to keep his disgrace of a daughter away from anything related to the family after the attack at the house, so it was very convenient for him to send me away with my tutor. Anywhere was fine as long as I was not under the same roof as him.”

“But you have returned since then to Ostwick. You are the de facto heir of house Trevelyan.”

“I think that thought alone is speeding him to the grave these days.” There was a curt detached laughter.

It would have been a lie if he were to say he wasn’t curious about her story. Her brother had been an inspiration for him as a teenager, while in training. Elijah Trevelyan was, back in the times before the Blight, the Templar everyone aspired to be. At least based on the stories that kept being told after his death. Yet he dared not ask, afraid it would only cut the conversation short.

The dunes were gradually replaced by rocky paths as he tried to keep track of their surroundings.

“It was my tutor who brought me here the first time. Later on we returned to this place where I lived until the age of fifteen.” She stopped and hummed in slight amusement. “You can fill those blanks in Leliana’s story now.”

“So what exactly is …?”

“You’ll see. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Just as those words escaped her lips, what seemed like rocks surfacing from the distance now opened up to reveal a narrow and steep ravine that went as far as the eye could see.

There was only space for one horse at a time so one by one they started the descent. 

From the back of the line he could hear the dwarf’s complaints which had been about the only occasions when he had let his presence known during the journey.

“Varric does not seem particularly happy to be here. Do you really believe it was a good idea to take him away from the camp? Maybe a rest would have been better?”

The woman glanced past him at the companions in the back.

“Varric needs the distraction.” She let out in her usual dry tone before dedicating her full attention to the path ahead.

And then it all connected. Hawke. Hawke was on the dwarf’s mind. Having to part in such ways, leading the remaining Wardens out of Orlais, must not have been easy for the man. He felt like an idiot for not understanding this before and Cullen wondered if they’d have the time to talk about it. He questioned if there was anything to talk about or if he’d have anything useful to say to the writer. If felt like he should, considering their history but… he wouldn’t know where to start. 

The narrow walls were slowly creating more space as they advanced and he was convinced they had reached the lowest point. Looking up he could barely catch glimpses of the sky above but he registered light ahead. However, the sight before him was also getting more nauseating the more distance they were covering. Without warning the area around started to open and the wall on their left was replaced by a cliff that was getting deeper and deeper. Eventually the bottom got swallowed by darkness.

“Stick to the wall as much as you can.” He heard Cassandra right behind him.

Little by little vegetation found its way through the rocks as they continued to advance towards the source of light. The sound of water reached them through the pass, echoing, making it difficult to place the source. The Trevelyan led with confidence but Cullent couldn’t let his guard down. Something was sending chills down his spine.

Wind was howling under them and the light ahead was revealing details in the walls, the small trees growing through the stone and the pockets in the rocks. The moment he realized the reason for his uneasiness Bull spoke up, same thought on his mind.

“We’re being watched.”

“We are.” Trevelyan confirmed with a calm tone. “They pose no danger to us. They are here to stop those that venture and have no business in the valley.”

“Clean tactic. Wonder how many bodies are at the bottom of this pit.” The qunari let out appreciatively.

“Who … are they?” Cassandra said, still visibly upset at their current situation.

“The Navir. Their role is to guard this place and make sure it remains… autonomous.”

A pressing silence followed but Cullen kept sharp. The fact that they were completely at these people’s mercy, either by arrow or crushed under falling rocks was nerve-racking. They kept marching until the Inquisitor’s dracolisk stepped through, the light swallowing her frame completely. He followed and had to close his eyes to protect himself from the overwhelming change. Carefully his eyelids parted allowing time to adjust but nothing could have prepared him for the sight ahead.

A massive oasis opened for them, under their feet. The greenest trees and vegetation were flourishing at the bottom of this unbelievable corner of the world, turned towards the clear blue water. High above them the sky looked like a cupola held together by the peaks of stone reaching out. And in between? There was life! An entire city was carved in the red rock in a careful style Cullen had never seen before. Entrances and windows, columns and arcs worked together to cover many levels right ahead of them to the bottom of the secluded gorge.

“Maker’s breath….” The Seeker let out, now by his side.

“Welcome to the Serpent’s Watch.” Jesebel Trevelyan allowed them the moments of silence to fully take in the sight. Cullen would read about places like these in books and dismiss them as fictive. And yet... here they were.

“They say the desert used to have a beating heart but it was ripped away and this oasis grew in its empty place.”

Cullen made the mistake of looking down putting him at the mercy of vertigo. Yet past the sentiment his attention focused on the army of men, dressed in leathers the colour of the stone, training in perfect synchrony on the sand below them.

The party was still too high above to have a clear look at the formation but there was something fascinating in the way they moved, armed not with swords or knives or shields, but long spears, with deadly blades.

“Let’s go. We’re expected.”

With that she continued down the path leading down in a spiral carved along the walls.

No one seemed to pay attention to the intruders and yet Cullen was sure than their actions were under careful observation. By the time they went through a massive arc the Inquisitor slowed down. To their right, in the stone, a tall space opened revealing a stall for the animals. As she dismounted, a man wearing the same attire as the troops below emerged and bowed. The woman nodded back and placed the reins of her dracolisk in his hands. They left the animals in the man’s care and Cullen took the time to glance at his sun-kissed skin and at the details in his armour: hard boiled leather and cottons, fitting for the desert, allowing free movement and keeping them difficult to spot.

Everyone slowly gathered by the edge of the pathway, looking down at the beautiful sight. Even Varric’s mood was changing as his thoughts became occupied with discovering the unexpected location in which he'd found himself.

“This place is marvelous. I can’t believe I am actually here.”

The Inquisitor pulled the scarf of her cowl away revealing the smile she held at Dorian’s word.

“What are you most excited about?”

“Where do I even start?”

Closer now to the army on the ground, it was easier to get mesmerized by the lethal dance they were performing.

“These are the men that were watching us?”

The woman followed his eyes and nodded. “They train here for all their life and never leave. They are born and bound to this place.”

Both harmonious and violent, the troops were organized to the smallest details. In separated lines, the few dwarves occupied the first rows, chained maces skillfully thrown in the air in flawless patterns. Elves and humans made up most of the formation, dancing with spears in their hands, spinning them around in ways that would put the most skillful and athletic mages to shame. And the heavies, corps made out of qunari and sturdy humans operated with terrifyingly looking halberds and chains.

It was difficult to look away and yet there was something strangely familiar in the way they moved.

“Shall we?”

The woman moved, ready to continue towards whatever final destination they had.

Most started to step away when he decided to speak up.

“Your technique… This is where you learnt to fight!”

She turned to him, a wide grin on her face, but Bull’s boisterous laughter didn’t give her the chance to confirm.

“Of course she did! The balance in your spear and the swiftness of your blades, the grip on your whip… It’s glorious to see it all unfold here. Sets you on fire. Ha ha I already love this place. Thanks for taking me along Boss.”

“Anytime Bull.”

Cullen followed them after stealing one more glance at the training men. He made notes of two interesting facts: no woman was taking part in the training; the Inquisitor had spent enough time here to learn their ways. He wondered what brought her here and what else had she taken from this place.

They followed her to a grand entrance carved in stone – tall walls and a short hall that ended with thick deep green drapes cascading heavily to the ground.

The moment she parted those drapes and let everyone in pieces of the puzzle started to fall together. They stepped into a circular foyer with expensive veils and silks hanging, and golden ornaments; a large fountain reigned in the middle; a gust of wind coming from entrances that were out of their sight made the charms sing gently, and strong and calming incenses filled the air.

“Stuck in time.” The woman whispered as she approached the fountain removing her cowl and gloves. Gently, almost like performing a ritual she dipped her hands into the water, cleaning carefully and sprinkling some droplets over her head.

“You’ll have to wash before you are allowed inside.”

As she let out her words a figure appeared from the only visible door, framing a set of stairs. A tall woman with dark hair and a purple sari glanced at them before her eyes moved on the Inquisitor in a calculating way. She whispered something catching the noble’s attention and they shared a moment of silence.

“Valsh- Magdalena?” her voice carried further the recognition in her eyes.

The woman’s face brightened and she let out an unexpected sound of pure joy.

“ Szerta’tt!”

In an instant she was by her side, throwing her arms around the Inquisitor. The noble spun the woman around just as she placed her lips on hers in a fervent kiss.

Taking half a step back the noble looked at her. “You look as beautiful as the day I left.”

The woman’s eyebrows furrowed but her grin got bigger.

“Vah’la! Va! Va!” She shouted looking over her shoulder. Only then did they realize they were not alone anymore; murmurs were growing as more heads and figures showed from around the veils. By the time they realized what was happening the Inquisitor was surrounded, all of the people dressed in similar fashion with thin, layered togas and rich in jewellery, all speaking in a language they couldn’t understand, touching her, spinning around her, laughing and kissing her. From afar some glanced in recognition, some in simple curiosity, as the most unusual scene was unfolding in front of the party of travellers.

“Is this… a brothel?” Cassandra was the first one to react, managing to sound both shocked and annoyed at the same time.

“Oh please Seeker, you couldn’t be more wrong.” Dorian sneered amusedly. “This is a place for the mind, the body and the soul.”

“You saying that does not make me feel any better about it.”

A heavy set of thuds sent the room into complete silence. All eyes went to the door where a sturdy old dwarven woman stood, a massive metallic cane in her hand - the source of the sudden order.

_“Varh’tett!”_

At her low and demanding voice most of the figures retreated, yet continued watching from afar with amusement and whispering words none of them could comprehend. 

When the path cleared, only the first woman still lingered close to the Inquisitor, at a polite distance.

_“_ I spend years educating these girls and boys and every time you walk through these doors they start acting like wolves in heat!”

“They are just making up for the bitterness in your heart Olga.” The woman showed the warmest smile.

“Huh.” The elder put both her hands on her cane and measured their Inquisitor from head to toe before speaking again. “You look like wyvern shit. Did the fade chew on you and spit you back?”

“As if you wouldn’t know that already.”

“That you find ways to get yourself killed over and over again? That’s no news. How does it feel to find out death doesn’t want you either?”

No matter how cuss the old woman seemed, the smile on the Trevelyan’s lips never wavered **.** It took everyone by surprise when she just stepped towards her and locked her in a long hug.

“I missed your charming ways, you difficult crone.” She started to cover her face with kisses that the woman could not stop in spite of the attempts. “It’s lovely that you still worry about me, Olga.”

The features on the dwarf’s face hardened with unmistakable concern.

“You’ve changed.” Her mouth moved as if she was chewing on her own thoughts. “Huh, that’s how this world gets you, isn’t it? Gives you something that you’re afraid to lose.”

“And you’re getting all sentimental on me when you have guests to attend to.”

“Starting with you. Just because this place knows you better than most doesn’t mean that you are not just another guest. You decided to leave.”

The noble answered with a wicked grin before the old lady turned pensively towards the rest of the travellers.

“Today marks the day the Inquisition crosses the threshold of this establishment for a second time.”

“A second time? I was not aware that any of our agents have connections to this place.” Cassandra let out, surprised.

A tempered smile found its way on the woman’s wrinkled face. “Different ages, different people, same bearing.”

“The Inquisition of Old. Even if that was the case how could anyone still know?”

“As the Stone remembers, this place doesn’t forget.”

With another tap of the cane against the floor the woman’s posture shifted once again. “Enough of that. Welcome to the Serpent’s Watch. In here, all our guests and patrons are equal regardless of their beliefs, titles or origin. Every single soul in our establishment - courtesans, paramours and lovers - are at your disposal in any way you see fit during your stay.” Her back straightened. “There are however a couple of rules you shall abide by: first of all, every door starting with this floor and above is open to you, unless the sentinels say otherwise. It is strictly forbidden to go to the floors below, inside the stone. Secondly, you are not to meet with the Seer unless he has called for an audience and under no circumstances are you to step by his side without a firm invitation. And thirdly, our women and men do not speak any language but our own. They might understand your words but will not converse with you. This is to ensure that whatever your requests may be they aren’t obliged to do anything they don’t wish to. Any harm brought to them is an offence to this establishment and shall be punished as such.”

They carefully listened to the woman without a single interruption. As old and gnarly as she was there was something about her that could put fear into most people.

“Breaking any of these rules can cost you either one or both your arms.”

The words gave room to a heavy silence as the group was trying to come to terms with their current predicament. Both Cassandra and Cullen were wishing that they had more transparency on the matter before being dragged into a situation like this, while the rest of the companions seemed rather intrigued if not even eager to know what was behind those doors, worthy of such peculiar terms.

Eventually, most likely taking pity on the travellers the woman dropped some of the steel in her voice. “These rules will prove really easy to follow after you ease up those tense shoulders. We are not unaware of the weight you carry for all of Thedas and we’ll do our best to lift the effects of some of that for as long as you will be among us.”

She was about to turn but stopped.

“One last thing I should mention – Until the day of your diplomatic arrangement your stay is on the house on behalf of The Seer himself as you are all arriving in the company of Mistress Jesebel.”

“That is an unnecessary way to say that I will be held accountable should anything go wrong.” The Inquisitor bit on her sarcasm but the woman continued untroubled.

“After that, Duke de Montfort has offered to cover for the costs of the meeting day as a sign of good faith.”

The dwarven matron waved her hand at the woman still standing by the Inquisitor. She bowed and in turn clapped her hands making every curious person disappear.

“It is custom to clean your faces and hands before you step in our house.”

She stretched her arm inviting them to follow her instructions.

Cassandra took the chance to throw the dirtiest look at her friend as she approached. “You and I will _talk._ ”

It only resulted in a wider grin spreading on Trevelyan’s face.

Once they were ready the elderly woman spoke again. “Now, this way, please. Once inside I’ll have some of the girls guide you to the rooms we have arranged.”

One by one, some more reluctant than others, they followed up the stairs.

“Say Your Inquisitorialness, are there any rules about writing down stories about this place?”

“That all depends on how accurate your stories will be.”

“Ah I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” The dwarf grinned for the first time since they’d started the journey.

Cullen was the last one to follow, with heavy steps, his mind far away from the conversations _. A pleasure house._ The duke had arranged their meeting in a pleasure house. What was he expecting anyway? There was a knot in his throat as discomfort and dread were rising up, with only one thought plaguing his mind – how to survive the current circumstances with his honour intact.


End file.
